When the woodland everywhere is despoiled of its green honours, make straight for the deep forest, mounted on the snow-white housing of your steed. The snipe is an easy and agreeable prey. You will find it no larger in body than Venus’ doves. It feeds close to the edge of embankments, by the wash of the water, hunting tiny worms, its favourite fare. But its pursuit thereof is rather with keen-scented nose than with the eyes, in which its sense is rather dull, too big for the body though they be. With the point of the beak driven into the ground it drags out the little worms which needs must follow, therewith rewarding an appetite cheap to satisfy.